


Sonnet for Caanana

by kaffyr (kaffyrutsky), kaffyrutsky, rutsky (kaffyrutsky)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaffyrutsky/pseuds/kaffyr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaffyrutsky/pseuds/kaffyrutsky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaffyrutsky/pseuds/rutsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Thief's not tame, but worth it nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnet for Caanana

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caanana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Caanana).



> This was written for **Canaana'** s 2011 **fandom_stocking** on LiveJournal. I am not a poet, god knows, and know only the bare minimum necessary to cobble together the most common type of sonnet. And yet it seemed best to me to talk about the rhapsody of loving Doctor Who in verse. I labored over this (which probably shows, and is no predictor of quality) but I hope it reflects at least a little of the love I hold for its multiplex subject, as well as the occasional awe in which I hold it.  
>  This was unedited; all mistakes and conceptual weaknesses are my own.  
>  **Disclaimer:** As much as I wish it were otherwise, no Whoniverse characters are mine. They are the sole properties of the BBC and their respective creators. I intend no copyright infringement, and take no coin. I do, however, love them all, and thank the BBC for letting me play in their sandbox.

****  
******  
**

* * *

**  
**  
  
Our lives are ruled by minutes, seconds, hours  
That march, like dogged soldiers, on and on;  
Or dance ahead, unstopped by any power -  
A brief, bright glory; bloom, and then are gone.  
Time is indifferent. Neither kind nor cruel,  
But pitiless, in hard and linear rule.  
  
Small wonder, that a blue and madmanned box  
Unhooked from Time and tumbling on its tides  
Should catch our hearts and drag us in Her flux;  
the promise of a freedom we're denied.  
A key to something we could never know  
Without Her, and Her gangrel Thief in tow.  
  
Her Pilot! Changing faces, guises, voice,  
Whose pipes from Hamlin lead us who knows when  
Or where? Whose magic offers us a choice  
To wheel through years, to circle back again.  
To watch, unscathed, as Time and Space collide  
Outside Her door, safe from the temporal tide.  
  
Of course it's dangerous. Though his smile is true,  
He changes hearts who follow in his wake.  
Leaves scars and tears as surely as years do,  
And pain as deep as any caused by fate.  
The Thief's not tame, and wild things treat us ill,  
Whether or not they want to, so they will.  
  
And yet, for all the sorrow that he brings,  
We deem it payment for transcendent joy.  
She's bigger on the inside, and She sings,  
And loves us, like Her double-hearted boy.  
Both worth the demons, and the angels, too -  
The Madman and his box of bluest blue.  
  
Out of the corner of your eye, then, seek  
For everything impossible. And find  
The TARDIS, as she waits upon your street,  
Or in the brilliant hallways of your mind.  
Time may still shackle bodies, but our souls  
With Timeless grace the universe enfolds.


End file.
